THE FOX.

THIS terror of hen-roosts and delight of sportsmen is found in most parts of England, and many other countries. It varies very much in colour and size, according to the country where it lives.

The habits of this animal are mostly nocturnal. It lies by day concealed in its burrow, if it be fortunate enough to possess one, or in the depths of some thicket, if it is not a householder. Towards evening it sallies out in search of food, and woe to the unfortunate hare, rabbit, pheasant, or fowl that comes in its way! Reynard does not attempt to chase the hare, for it is too swift for him, or the rabbit, as it would immediately dive into its hole! nor does he run at the pheasant, which would fly away, and probably only leave a tail feather in the fox's mouth. He knows his business too well. He creeps very quietly and slowly to some place where hares or rabbits are likely to pass, and then springs on them as they run by him. Sometimes he steals into the hen-roost, destroys and carries off most of its inmates, some of which he devours on the spot, others he carries home, and the remainder he buries for a future repast.

When irritated, the fox gives out a strong disagreeable scent, which lies so long on the ground that it may be perceived for nearly an hour after the fox has passed. Partly on this account, and partly on account of its speed, endurance, and cunning, the chase of the fox is one of the most admired English sports. Many tales are related of its cunning when pursued, such as driving another fox out of its home, and forcing it to substitute itself as the chase, diving into a heap of manure, so that the dogs could not perceive its scent, jumping over a wall, running a little way, coming back again, and lying under the wall until all the dogs had passed, and then leaping a second time over the same place where it had passed before, and making off

in its old track. A fox has been known to leap through a kitchen window, and hide itself behind the plates on the dresser, without the observation of the cook, to whose terror and consternation six or seven dogs have leaped through the same window, and dragged the fox from its lurking-place.

The Arctic Fox changes its fur, and becomes white during the winter.

"LITTLE BIRDIE, I ENVY YOU."

AMONG the lochs (lakes) of Scotland there is one so beautiful, that it is called the "Queen of the Lochs." At its eastern end properly speaking, the foot of the loch-the scenery is quite enchanting, combining as it does the grandeur and loveliness of nature. A dear friend of mine, some years ago, was on a visit to this charming spot; and one day, as she lingered gazing on the islands, and islets, and rocks around, she saw a little bird perched on a stone just above the surface of the water, and after taking its little fill of the cool and refreshing liquid, it raised its head to heaven and poured out its heart's gladness in a sweet and touching song.

"You

"Ah, little birdie! I envy you," said my friend. are happy, and can sing with joy, but I cannot. You are not a sinner like me. I have offended the great God, and am afraid to think of him, and tremble at the thought of meeting him. Would I had never sinned! Would that I had no soul, and were but a bird! Yes, little birdie, I do envy you!"

In words somewhat like these did my unhappy friend express her wish to be but a bird.

And now a year has passed away, and that lady is again by the shore of that lovely loch. She looks for the perching

stone; and, strange to say, there is a bird, and perhaps the very same, at the spot where she had seen and envied it the year before. But now she looked on it with a different feeling, and her thoughts, if put in simple words such as young people can understand, were these :

"Ah, little birdie! I don't envy you now, for I am happy too, and happier far than you can ever be. You have no soul to love our God in heaven, and feel his love. You can hop and fly, can chirp and sing, but no soul have you to understand and love the tender God who made you. I have a soul, and I am glad that ever I was born.

"Ah, little bird! no Saviour died for you; and the sweet joy of sins forgiven you can never know! But Jesus died for me, and bore my sins away, and now I sing for joy. And when I think of all his love to me, and how upon the bitter cross he died, and how by him my sins were all atoned, my heart is glad, and I can sing a song. more sweet to me, and more approved in heaven, than all the birds of all the woods of earth!

"Yes, little bird! for you there is no heaven. Your little note grows dumb, your wing droops, you sicken, and then die. But I can look for joys beyond the grave; for Jesus has obtained heaven for me. There I have a dwelling fairer far than earth; a golden crown is being kept for me; a harp of gold; and there, in perfect bliss, my song I'll raise. The music I shall make will last and echo when, poor

little

bird, you'll be no more. My better day is to come, and when it once begins, it never more will end. I shall not droop or die. I do not envy you."

Now, my young reader, I have told you this little story, that you may learn three simple lessons from it.

1. How wretched are they whose sins are not forgiven. They cannot be happy, really happy. They envy almost any of the dumb and soul-less brutes. I have heard of Col. Gardiner, that, when he was unconverted, he was miserable indeed. We read that he sometimes wished himself a dog, that when he died there might be an end of him. But he